


Demigoddess

by Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r/pseuds/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r
Summary: Percy Jackson arrives at Camp Half-Blood on a Monday.Neoma doesn’t make it a habit to keep track of trivial things such as dates. They’re just days, after all.This day, however, was aday.Thus, Percy Jackson arrives at Camp Half-Blood on a Monday, one of Grover’s arms slung over his shoulder as he stumbles down Half-Blood Hill, crying for his mother.Or, Neoma is Neoma until Jackson crashes into her life and disrupts every single little thing that she’d been holding onto in the last five years. He’s a whirlwind. She doesn’t like it.Or, Annabeth is desperate to prove herself and Neoma is obliged to go along with her because there’s old magic at work. Everybody else is on first-name basis with Jackson, but Neoma knows that there’s something up with him. Grover is everybody’s favourite satyr.





	Demigoddess

Percy Jackson arrives at Camp Half-Blood on a Monday.

Neoma doesn’t make it a habit to keep track of trivial things such as dates. They’re just days, after all.

This day, however, was a _day._

Thus, Percy Jackson arrives at Camp Half-Blood on a Monday, one of Grover’s arms slung over his shoulder as he stumbles down Half-Blood Hill, crying for his mother.

Annabeth’s mind is whipping through questions, one after the other, and Neoma has to concentrate in order to block the racket out.

“Mom!” Percy yells, word coming out strangled and weak. “Mom!”

His knees give out.

Chiron gallops past both Annabeth and Neoma, horse legs making better distance than the two girls’ human ones.

“Neoma!” he calls, skidding to a stop.

The dark-haired demigod pumps her legs faster, an unearthly silver glow leaving a faint trail behind her.

 _Frustration_ blooms in Annabeth’s mind, not her own but rather Neoma’s.

Neoma feels the cracks in her mental walls, Annabeth’s brief flash of _regret_ trickling through, and quickly seals her mind up tightly.

Her flip-flops smack against her feet with every step, dewy grass soaking Neoma’s feet.

She sinks to her knees beside Percy Jackson.

“Sleep,” she whispers, placing a hand on his forehead.

He does.

~~~~~

Neoma’s thrall holds Percy Jackson tight all through the rest of the night, up until the sun is halfway through its journey across the sky.

The last few hours has Neoma sweating and struggling, fists clenched and nails digging crescent marks into her palm.

The power Percy Jackson carries with him is ancient and runs deep.

It scares Neoma, because there have been too many in the past who have carried this very same power.

She keeps it to herself.

~~~~~

Percy Jackson wakes at midday, and Neoma stays well away.

Annabeth already knows that there’s something up, their bond tugging at the back of both their minds.

Neoma smothers her instinct to stick to Annabeth’s side like a limpet and continues climbing the lava wall like a monkey.

~~~~~

Neoma should have listened to the bond, because four hours in and Percy Jackson has already flooded the girl’s toilets.

She catches up to him and Annabeth as they’re moving away from the lava wall.

Sharp brown eyes make note of the fact that Jackson is completely dry while Annabeth is still slightly damp.

“Percy, this is Neoma. Neoma, Percy,” the blonde says, making quick work of the introductions.

Neoma inclines her dark head in greeting, lips pursed as her eyes sweep Jackson up and down.

She lets her _dubiousness_ flow through the bond, snaking into Annabeth’s mind, and the other girl frowns.

 _Later,_ she says, brushing Neoma’s thoughts aside.

Neoma doesn’t like it, but she lets it go.

She knows patience.

~~~~~

The water of the canoe lake is calm, flawless blue unlike any other stretching out in front of Neoma from her place leaning up against the railing.

You won’t be able to find waters like this anywhere else in America.

Only magic can create water like this. Only magic can keep water like this.

(Unpolluted.)

(Neoma’s heart aches as she longs for times long past.)

“Neoma and I have training to do,” Annabeth says, voice lacking any telltale emotion. “Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall.”

Jackson opens and closes his mouth a few times before swallowing harshly

“Annabeth, I’m sorry about the toilets,” he says. The sincerity in his voice is real, but sincerity is not everlasting and it does not make Neoma any less wary of this boy.

“Whatever,” Annabeth sighs.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jackson presses, brow furrowed as if unsure.

The silence stretches. Nobody knows what to say.

Neoma is staying well out of this.

“You need to talk to the Oracle,” the daughter of Athena finally says.

Neoma twitches.

Maybe detachment is not the best way to handle this.

“Who? Jackson asks, cluelessness painted all over his face.

“Don’t bother yourself with it,” Neoma says briskly. “It’s not anything you should be worried about.”

The dark-haired girl sends Annabeth a mental _look_ that says _the same goes for you._

“I’ll ask Chiron,” Annabeth says, completely disregarding all of Neoma’s _back off now_ signs.

Jackson stares into the lake band his eyes widen.

Neoma follows his gaze.

There are two naiads flitting around at the bottom of the pond.

They wave to Neoma.

Neoma waves back.

“Don’t encourage them,” Neoma hears Annabeth warn Jackson. “Naiads are terrible flirts.”

“Naiads,” Jackson repeats, voice faint. Neoma glances at the boy over Annabeth’s shoulders. “That’s it. I want to go home now.”

 _Home_ reverberates in both Annabeth and Neoma’s minds, two images mixing together as they both feel pangs of longing.

Wanderlust lodges itself into the space underneath Neoma’s breastbone.

She releases a controlled sigh.

“This is your home,” Neoma says. “At least, it is now. It’s the only safe place for people like us.”

“You mean, mentally disturbed kids?” Jackson asks.

Annabeth’s eyes narrow.

“She means non-human,” the blonde corrects. “Not totally human, anyway. Half-human.”

“Half-humans and half-what?” Jackson demands. There is disbelief growing in his voice, spreading across his face.

Neoma tilts her head sideways a bit, ponytail slipping off of one brown shoulder.

“I think you know,” she says simply.

The incredulity in Jackson’s face seems to buckle and fold.

 _Sympathy_ darts across Neoma’s mind, a small sliver of Annabeth’s mentality.

“God,” Jackson whispers. “Half-god.”

Annabeth nods. “Your dad isn’t dead, Percy,” she says. “Far from it, actually. He’s one of the Olympians.”

 _When did Jackson become Percy?_ Neoma thinks, pushing the thought gently towards the blonde.

Annabeth doesn’t answer, mentally or otherwise.

“That’s… crazy,” Jackson says faintly.

“Not really,” Neoma says, Annabeth’s silence irking her. “Gods run around falling in love with humans. You’ve heard it in what you might’ve called myths. It’s not like anything’s changed in the last few millennia.”

Thunder rumbles overhead. Neoma’s shoulders tighten.

Jackson swallows roughly.

“But if all the kids here are half-gods—“

“Demigods,” Annabeth corrects. “That’s the official term. Or half-bloods.”

“Then which god is your dad?” Jackson continues, rushing it all out like he’s afraid of the answer.

Annabeth’s hands tighten on the railing.

Neoma stalls as _regret_ and _rage_ and _loss_ lance into her mind.

“Hers or mine?” the demigod asks, keeping her face neutral. “Or both?”

 _Calm,_ Neoma sends across the bond.

“Both,” Jackson replies. He’s looking at Annabeth warily, eyes on her hands.

 _Let me,_ the child of Athena says curtly, face not giving away any of her mental message to Neoma.

The dark-haired demigod sends back a mental nod, taking a metaphorical step back, lingering at the back of Annabeth’s mind.

“My dad is a professor at West Point,” Annabeth says, voice steady. “I haven’t seen him since I was very small. He teaches American history.”

“He’s human,” Jackson says dumbly, face screwed up in confusion.

 _Annoyance_ comes from Annabeth’s side, sparks compared to Neoma’s flames.

“Assuming that only a male god can find a human female attractive is sexist and misogynistic, built on a platform of a skewed societal hierarchy and toxic gender roles,” Neoma snaps. “It’s the kind of mindset I’ve been fighting against for millennia, but it’s getting worse as time passes and if you don’t check yourself, it’ll become much, much worse. So _mind your tongue.”_

Jackson blinks, sea-green eyes filled with shock and mouth goldfishing.

Neoma scowls.

“Millennia?” Jackson finally squeaks.

“That’s all you took away from that?” Annabeth asks, her _satisfaction_ being sent Neoma’s way.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says quickly. “I didn’t know.” His eyes dart over Annabeth and Neoma’s faces. He’s missing something. “And, um. Thank you for pointing it out, I’ll be sure to do better in the future.”

The apology is awkward, stilted, scripted compared to Jackson’s previous speech. But it’s a step.

Neoma remains scowling, but some of her _annoyance_ has died down.

“My mother is Cabin Six,” Annabeth says, breaking the tense silence.

“Meaning?” Jackson asks, looking thankful for anything to drag him out of the hole he’d dug.

“Athena,” Annabeth replies, straightening up. _Embarrassment_ blooms in Neoma’s mind. She’d forgotten that Jackson was new. “Goddess of wisdom and battle.”

The blonde glances at Neoma.

_Share and tell?_

_Share and tell,_ Neoma replies with a mental sigh.

“Hypnos,” the dark-haired demigod says out loud without Jackson’s prompting. “God of sleep. He doesn’t have a cabin, so I stay in Cabin Eight. Artemis.”

Annabeth glances at Neoma carefully, but Neoma hides the _bitterness_ well.

“Artemis?” Jackson repeats, eyebrows turning down and forehead crinkling in confusion. “Isn’t she not allowed children?”

“She’s sworn off men,” Neoma corrects. “I stay in Cabin Eight because I have sworn my allegiance to Lady Artemis, even if I do not hunt with her.”

Jackson blinks.

Opens his mouth.

“Millennia?” he finally settles on, reviving the old topic of conversation.

Neoma’s patience thins a little more.

“My vow to Lady Artemis gives me eternal youth in return for my loyalty,” she says flatly. “I shouldn’t age.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“It’s complicated, but it’s over,” Neoma says, praying for Jackson to take a hint.

The boy stays still for a moment.

“And my dad?”

Jackson sounds timid, tentative, unsure.

I shake my head.

_Show and tell._

“Undetermined,” Annabeth says. “Like I told you before. Nobody knows.”

“Except my mother,” Jackson says. “She knew.”

The words _Sally Jackson_ rush at Neoma, giving her a name to match to this woman who has Jackson’s unshakeable faith.

“Maybe not, Percy,” Annabeth says gently. “Gods don’t always reveal their identities.”

“My dad would have,” Jackson insists. “He loved her.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Annabeth says, her reluctance to burst the kid’s bubble apparent. “Maybe he’ll send a sign. That’s the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens.”

“You mean sometimes it doesn’t?” Jackson asks.

There is panic rising in his eyes, and Neoma can see him struggling to push it down.

She knows what he is thinking, knows that by hearing what Annabeth has to say just makes him terrified of being someone that his own father doesn’t want.

Neoma knows that fear, although not in as specific words.

She doesn’t want to be the one to tell him the truth, but. It’s something that has to be said.

“The gods are busy,” Annabeth finally says, _hesitance_ and _reluctance_ weighing heavily on the bond. “They have a lot of kids and they don’t always…”

She sighs. Squares her shoulders.

“Well, sometimes they do t care about us, Percy. They ignore us.”

Jackson’s eyes are scared, but there is resignation and understanding coming to the forefront.

“So I’m stuck here,” he says. “That’s it? For the rest of my life?”

“It depends,” Annabeth replies evasively.

Jackson’s eyes are desperate as they seek her out.

“Some only stay for the summer, go back to school during the winter,” the blonde explains. “If you’re a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, it’s almost a guarantee that you’ll be able to leave and be safe. The monsters could ignore you, so if you’re trained for a few months every summer then you’d be able to scrape by. But for some of us—most of us, actually—we can’t leave. Our scent is too powerful. Out in the mortal world, we attract monsters.

“They can sense us, you know. Come to challenge us. Kill us. Whichever works. Mostly they ignore us until we’re about ten, maybe eleven. If you’re lucky, maybe twelve. But after that, most either get here or get killed.”

There’s a trapped feeling appearing in Jackson’s eyes, and Neoma sends a jolt of _careful_ Annabeth’s way. _Careful how you handle this. Careful how you tell it._

 _I know,_ the blonde says, and brushes the other’s thoughts away.

“A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous,” Annabeth continues. “If I to,d You the names, you’d know them. Some don’t even realise they’re demigods. But very, very few are like that.”

Jackson’s mind appears to whir.

“So monsters can’t get in here?” he asks.

“Not unless they’re invited by someone on the snide or stocked in the woods,”Annabeth confirms with a shake of her head.

“Why would anybody want to summon a monster?”

“Practice, practical jokes, practical practice, stuff like that.”

“Practical jokes?” Jackson half-squeaks.

“Point is, borders are sealed against mortals and monsters,” Annabeth says, waving his concerns away quickly. “On the outside, mortals just see a strawberry farm.”

Jackson nods slowly, but then looks at us again when he grasps another question.

“So… you guys are both year-rounders?”

 _You take this one,_ Annabeth mutters, placing her arms back on the railing as she leans forwards.

Neoma considers conjuring a mental image of a spider.

“We’ve been here since Annabeth was seven,” Neoma explains flatly, aching to get this whole thing over this. “On the last day of the summer session in August, they give you a bead for surviving another year, which means we have five.”

She lifts her left arm, shaking her wrist to show off the camp necklace-turned-bracelet.

“Most of the counsellors are all in college, but we’ve been here longer than them.”

“Why did you two come so young?”

Neoma straightens, gripping the railing, and Annabeth looks away uncomfortably.

“None of your business,” Neoma bites out.

“Oh.”

The silence grows. Neoma wants out of here.

“So… I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?” Jackson finally pipes up.

It’s not an end to the conversation, but Neoma’s tolerance tank is almost spent so she’ll take it and try to end this as soon as possible.

“It’d be suicide,” Annabeth says, a _just a little more_ sent Neoma’s way, “but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless…”

“Unless?”

 _Careful,_ Neoma warns.

“You were granted a quest,” Annabeth hedges. “But that hardly ever happens. The last time…”

Neoma closes her eyes briefly, worms her way into Annabeth’s mind.

There are images flashing across the blonde’s mind, ones that Neoma runs a mental hand across.

The images retreat. Neoma pulls away.

“Back in the sick room,” Jackson says, “when you were feeding me that stuff—“

“Ambrosia,” Annabeth supplies, thankful for the change of subject.

“Yeah. You asked me something about the summer solstice.”

Neoma releases the rail, standing up straight. She sends a harsh look at Annabeth, _why didn’t you tell me?_ rocketing towards the blonde. _You should have told me._

“So you do know something?” Annabeth asks. _It was nothing. Just for a few seconds._

 _He was supposed to be_ asleep, Neoma stresses. _I put him to sleep, he should’ve stayed that way._

“Well… no,” Jackson admits. “Back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something like we didn’t have much time, because of the deadline. What did that mean?”

Neoma feels Annabeth probing at her mind and shuts the blonde down quickly, closing herself off from the other.

“I wish I knew,” Annabeth says out loud. “Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won’t tell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so normal.”

“You’ve been to Olympus?” Jackson asks, eyes saucer-wide.

“Some of us year-rounders—Luke and Clarisse and Neoma and I and a few others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. That’s when the gods have their big annual council.”

“But… how did you get there?”

Neoma taps her foot impatiently, letting her walls down a bit to send Annabeth an irate _hurry up._

“The Long Island Railroad, of course,” Annabeth says. “You get off at Penn Station. Empire State Building, special elevator to the six hundredth floor. You are a New Yorker, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Jackson says, in a tone that says “no, definitely not.”

“Right after we visited, the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I’ve overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn’t returned by summer solstice, there’s going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping… I mean—“

Annabeth huffs out a frustrated sigh.

“Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she’s got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something.”

Jackson shakes his head.

 _Let’s go,_ Neoma hisses, pulling on Annabeth mentally.

“I’ve got to get a quest,” the blonde mutters to herself distractedly. “I’m not too young. If they would just tell me the problem…”

_It’s not your age, gods know how little they care about that. It’s just dangerous._

_Then you can_ help me. _Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?_

 _It’s a two-way street,_ Neoma points out, and leaves it at that.

~~~~~

Friday arrives, which means Capture the Flag, and Neoma isn’t looking forward to refereeing.

Still. Millennia was millennia, which meant she had an unfair advantage compared to the other campers.

Of course, Neoma wasn’t looking forward to refereeing, but seeing Annabeth win was nice.

Seeing a glowing green trident spinning above Jackson’s head was not.

The rush of power that accompanied the claiming sends Neoma reeling, Poseidon’s power clashing against Hypnos and Artemis’.

It’s headache-inducing, and Annabeth hurries away from Jackson as Neoma’s pain shocks her through the bond.

Neoma’s knees hit the ground, shorts doing nothing to protect the delicate skin from the sharp, pebbly rocks.

~~~~~

Weeks pass.

Jackson’s powers are wavy and static, surging up at Neoma whenever she nears.

Sleeping is worse.

Jackson may be on the other side of the commons separating the odd-numbered cabins from the evens, but that doesn’t matter.

Dreams invade Neoma’s mind, of sand and storms and booming voices.

Chiron listens to her with a grave face, but no matter what she says, he tells her that it is not time.

Neoma’s head aches.

~~~~~

Neoma has little warning before a raspy, paper-thin voice invades her mind, takes over her senses.

_You shall go west, and face the god who has turned._

_You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned._

_You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend._

_And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end._

The Oracle leaves Neoma’s mind, and the dark-haired demigod sucks in a huge, heaving breath.

She’s fucked.

~~~~~

There’s so much Neoma wants to say, but talking to a pine tree can sometimes come off as crazy to people who don’t know the story behind it.

Everyone else is waiting in the car—Grover, Annabeth.

Jackson.

Neoma can feel Chiron’s eyes on her from afar, but he keeps his distance.

Annabeth has retreated from her mind.

It’s only Neoma.

Neoma and a pine tree.

“I’ll keep her safe,” she whispers.

~~~~~

Neoma is strong, but this quest seems to be testing her like no other.

Furies do not belong on buses and they do not belong on buses looking like old ladies.

Ma’afiri, a celestial bronze blade gifted to Neoma from Artemis, had done its job well, even against a ranged weapon like a whip.

Alecto, punisher of moral crimes, had not gone under easily, nor for very long.

Her magic was old, older than Neoma’s, stronger than Neoma’s, but Neoma wasn’t looking for a way to put her out for a length of time, just for a second.

It was just enough to get everyone out unscathed.

On the downside, Neoma is exhausted, which is probably why the red cursive of “Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium” looked so appealing.

~~~~~

When Aunty Em lifts her veil and nearly turns Grover, Annabeth, Jackson and Neoma to stone, it doesn’t seem very appealing anymore.

Neoma hits the ground hands first, toppling from the bench much less gracefully than she would’ve had she not been exhausted and also drugged.

She follows through with a roll all the same, sloppy and slightly uncoordinated, but she’s running, pulling Ma’afiri from the inside of her jacket.

The blade glows, lengthening into a short sword, and Neoma ducks down behind a nearby statue, breathing hard.

“The Sea God did this to me, Percy,” Medusa says in the voice of a kindly old woman. “Your father, the prideful Poseidon, this is all his fault. He turned me from a beautiful woman into this.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Annabeth shouts, _panic_ rising up as quickly as it’s stifled. “Run, Percy!”

“Silence!” Medusa commands, the old woman gone and a snarl in her place. It’s back just as quickly. “You see why I must destroy you, Percy. I shall crush your statue to dust. But your friends do not need to suffer. I can spare them if you’d just take a quick peek.”

“No,” Neoma hears Jackson say. She shakes the sleep out of her eyes.

“Do you really want to help the gods?” Medusa asks. She raises her voice. “Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest, children of the gods? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be pawns of the Olympians, my dears. You would all be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain.”

“Fuck you, lady!” Neoma yells.

“Percy!” Grover calls from the opposite direction. “Duck!”

Taking the distraction, Neoma darts out from behind the statue she’s sheltered behind, eyes on the ground and navigating by sound.

“Duck!” Grover yells again. “I’ll get her!”

Neoma adjusts her course.

_Thwack!_

Medusa roars with rage.

Neoma knows exactly where she’s going.

“You miserable satyr,” Medusa snarls. “I’ll add you to my collection!”

“That was for Uncle Ferdinand!” Grover yells in return.

Neoma closes her eyes and wills Ma’afiri into a longsword, gripping the hilt with both hands as she swings.

The blade meets resistance, and Medusa roars once more.

Swiveling, Neoma brings Ma’afiri around with her, aiming higher.

No resistance. She’s moved.

_Thwack!_

“Forward right!” Grover yells.

Neoma takes a step forwards and thrusts Ma’afiri out before her.

Something whooshes at Neoma’s face.

She scrambles back, one hand rising up and grasping at air.

_Thwack!_

“Neo, get up!” Grover calls.

 _Frustration_ bursts in Neoma’s chest, bitter and sharp, stabbing like knives.

Her arms are too short, her legs are too short, everything in this body is wrong.

She needed to train more. Harder.

Get back to where she was before.

“Neo!” Grover yells, a bit of panic in the satyr’s voice.

Neoma grunts, pushing herself to her feet and shrinking Ma’afiri back down to a short sword.

“Hey, Medusa!” she yells. “Poseidon is the best god!”

An answering roar.

Neoma charges forwards in a body that isn’t hers.

~~~~~

Sleeping in the woods brings back memories, but Neoma buries those memories deep and counts herself lucky that they’re not toting Medusa’s head around.

Before the night is up, though, Neoma reckons staring down a dead Medusa would have been better.

Dreamwalking is not an exact art. It’s letting your mind, even some of your soul, wander around and walk all over other people’s minds and souls.

The misfortune of dreamwalking, however, is that when a certain soul or a certain dream has a strong gravitational pull, a dreamwalker is helpless to resist.

Neoma could really do without dreams of a yawning pit and a too-familiar voice.

 _One who calls you a friend,_ the Oracle had said.

No.

Neoma doesn’t believe that.

~~~~~

Annabeth wakes up and sees what Neoma saw, hears what Neoma heard, and her eyes fill with tears, with worry.

 _It’s not Luke,_ she says, firm and unwavering. _It’s just a trick. They’re always playing tricks._

Neoma is obliged to agree, but there is something not right about that dream, about that voice, about the venom in Luke’s voice.

Boys are more trouble than they’re worth.

~~~~~

A poodle gets them as far as the Gateway Arch in St. Louis without a problem, but then Jackson blows up the national monument and they’re Iris Messaging Luke in a car garage in Denver.

Neoma wasn’t prepared to see Luke this soon after the Dream, but it is what it is and she only has to duck to the side for a minute to regain her composure.

"Well, take care of yourself out there in Denver," Luke ends the Iris Message with. "And tell Grover it'll be better this time! Nobody will get turned into a pine tree if he just—"

He’s gone.

Neoma feels like Luke had taken a chunk of her chest with him.

She needs a nap.

~~~~~

Neoma needs a chainsaw. Preferably heavy-duty. And celestial bronze.

Neoma also needs Ares to stand still so that she can cut his godly head off.

It’s been a long time since 431 BC, and even if Ares used to be the very god she looked to for guidance, that doesn’t change the fact that lately he’s been a Grade A Asshole.

Now more than ever, this body feels wrong.

It’s been five years. Neoma doesn’t understand how she’s not used to this by now. She’s endured millennia of things much worse.

Neoma can’t shake the feeling of being too small, too weak, incapable of things that had once been possible.

Aphrodite’s scarf makes it all the worse, bringing back memories of past battles full of fierce, vicious love.

Neoma misses so much that cannot be returned.

~~~~~

“You were the satyr who tried to rescue Thalia, the daughter of Zeus.”

A single sentence. That’s all it takes for everything to be revealed.

Grover can do nothing but nod glumly.

“And the other two half-bloods Thalia befriended, the ones who got safely to camp…”

Jackson trails off, looking at Annabeth.

“That was you and Luke, wasn’t it?”

“Like you said, Percy, a seven-year-old half-blood wouldn’t have made it very far alone,” Annabeth says quietly. _Sorrow_ washes over the both of us, and Neoma wants to fall into a coma and never wake up.

(It’s not like that’s not something she couldn’t do, but more like she doesn’t want to leave Annabeth to fend for herself. Gods knows what could happen if she was left with Grover and Percy.)

“Athena guided me toward help,” Annabeth continues. “Thalia was twelve. Luke was fourteen. They’d both run away from home, like me. They were happy to take me with them. They were… amazing monster-fighters, even without training. We traveled north from Virginia without any real plans, fending off monsters for about two weeks before Grover found us.”

“I was supposed to escort Thalia to camp,” Grover sniffles. “Only Thalia. I had strict orders from Chiron: don’t do anything that would slow down the rescue. We knew Hades was after her, see, but I couldn’t just leave Luke and Annabeth by themselves. I thought… I thought I could lead all three of them to safety. It was my fault the Kindly Ones caught up with us. I froze. I got scared on the way back to camp and took some wrong turns. If I’d just been a little quicker…”

“Shut up,” Neoma says gruffly, arms crossed and head propped up on legs pulled flushed against her chest. “You’re the only one who blames yourself.”

“She sacrificed herself to save us,” Grover counters, misery painting his words. “Her death was my fault. The Council of Cloven Elders said so.”

“Fuck them,” Neoma snaps, unfolding her arms and leaning forwards. “Those turns weren’t wrong, they were evasive. We had to make detours to get the Kindly Ones off our backs.”

“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you, Grover,” Annabeth says gently. “Neither would Luke. We don’t care what the council says.”

“It’s just my luck,” Grover sniffles on. “I’m the lamest satyr ever, and I find the two most powerful half-bloods of the century, Thalia and Percy.”

“You’re not lame,” Annabeth insists in a voice that brooks no argument. “You’ve got more courage than any satyr I’ve ever met. Name one other who would dare go to the Underworld. I bet Percy is really glad you’re here right now.”

Movement in the darkness from Annabeth and Jackson’s corner.

“Yeah,” Jackson says quickly. “It’s not luck that you found Thalia and me, Grover. You’ve got the biggest heart of any satyr ever. You’re a natural searcher. That’s why you’ll be the one who finds Pan.”

A deep, heaving sigh from Grover.

Neoma sits back in her own corner, letting her back rest against the wall and shakes her head.

Grover is asleep.

“How does he do that?” Jackson whispers.

“I don’t know,” Annabeth says. “Our theories amount to Neoma putting him asleep one too many times.”

A pause.

“But that was a really nice thing you told him.”

“I meant it,” Jackson replies.

A beat of silence.

“Where do you fit in?” Jackson asks quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want anyone to hear. “Uh. Neoma.”

The dark-haired demigod’s hands clench into fists.

“I used to run with the Hunt,” she says quietly. She needs to keep this brief. She doesn’t know what this is going to turn into. “We’re a group of girls who’ve sworn allegiance to our Lady Artemis. No falling in love with boys in exchange for eternal youth. I joined when I was sixteen. 415 BC.”

Jackson splutters.

“What?”

“Listen,” Neoma says impatiently. “The whole timing thing is important. The myth of the Bond is dead now, but it was a story every person in Sparta knew.”

“The Bond?” Jackson repeats, curiosity plain.

“Shut up and let me finish,” Neoma snaps.

 _Calm,_ Annabeth sends, and Neoma closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“Everybody knows the myths about Ares, Aphrodite and Hephaestus,” Neoma continues, voice carefully controlled. “I trust Annabeth gave you the overview in the Tunnel of Love.”

I don’t need to see Jackson to know that he flinches.

“Yeah,” he says weakly.

“Good,” Neoma says. “Because that’s not how it goes at all. Aphrodite chose to get married to Hephaestus because he saw her for her, not just for her looks. The gods are gossips, they skewed the whole thing. Said that Aphrodite wasn’t happy with Hephaestus. Ares couldn’t take a hint, kept on coming on her, so Aphrodite and Hephaestus came up with a way to make him back off permanently.

“Aphrodite invited Ares to her rooms, where Hephaestus triggered the trap. An unbreakable golden net caught Ares, and Aphrodite and Hephaestus offered him two options: back off forever or be humiliated in front of the gods. Ares said no to backing off, so Aphrodite and Hephaestus carted him up to Olympus and humiliated him. But Ares claimed that the only reason he was caught was because he was too distracted committing spicy adultery with Aphrodite.”

Neoma drags a hand over her face, eyes drooping all of a sudden.

“Aphrodite is the goddess of love. She hated the idea that she would even be rumoured to be cheating on her husband, so she had Hephaestus demand Ares refund the bride price, an impossible feat. Everyone knew it. Poseidon stepped in and got Hephaestus to agree to letting Ares repay the bride price in equal measure instead of the exact same thing.

“But that backed Aphrodite and Hephaestus into a corner. If Ares couldn’t repay the bride price, Aphrodite would be Poseidon’s, and that’s something that they didn’t want. So they roped Ares into planning a new bride price, something that would match it in greatness. They spent a lot of time together for centuries, working and working to find something that would be equal in value.”

Neoma shrugs, even if no one can see her.

“Of course, there was nothing. So they decided to make something. That something was the Gia Pánta, the Forever, the Bond. It was a string. An invisible, unbreakable, insubstantial string forged by Hephaestus. Aphrodite and Ares chose the people Hephaestus would tie it to, people who would love and cherish and fight and die for each other to the very end.”

The words are falling from Neoma’s lips faster than she can think of them, the whole story long-since memorised.

“It doesn’t have to be romantic, that’s not what it was intended for,” she forges on. “But it was everlasting, right until one of them died, and often times the other would die right after the other.”

Neoma sighs.

“That’s what Annabeth and I are. We’re Bonded. Together until the very end.”

Annabeth clears her throat.

 _That’s good,_ she says. _I can take it from here._

 _Okay,_ Neoma says, and her chest feels light.

She feels light.

“Hecate was guiding Neoma all through her life, and she’s the one who got Neoma to swear allegiance to Artemis,” Annabeth says, _pride_ leaking into the bond. “The very first Huntress. The time wasn’t right for us to meet. I wasn’t going to be born until years in the future. So Hecate waited until we were ready and guided Neoma to Detroit.”

Annabeth pauses.

“Grover, Thalia, Luke and I—we were in trouble. Neoma came in with the Hunters and saved us. The moment we locked eyes, her body regressed nine years to match my age. That was the Bond. It links us, keeps us together, so that we’re always aware of each other. That’s why she followed us to Camp Half-Blood.”

~~~~~

The talk in the musty old trailer had lifted a weight off of Neoma’s chest.

She feels lighter than ever before—which is probably why she missed all the signs.

Time, to Neoma, was irrelevant and tedious after a few millennia.

Still, it’s jarring to learn that five days can easily be stolen if you don’t pay attention.

~~~~~

Death by waterbed was not how Neoma was planning to go.

Jackson, however, came through, and she’s glad that he managed to get everyone out.

Neoma had never been to the Underworld as far as she could remember, but she wasn’t expecting DOA Recording Studios.

Or Charon to be… Charon but obsessed with Italian suits.

Cerberus, however, is familiar.

“Hey, Cerrie,” Neoma coos, scratching two heads under the chin. The third head nudges her gently, almost making her fall over.

Neoma laughs.

Jackson, Annabeth and Grover all look at her in drop-jawed shock.

“Hercules’ last labour,” Neoma explains, laughing as one of Cerberus’ heads attempts to lick her. “I helped him return Cerberus.”

“You’ve been to the Underworld before?” Jackson asks.

Neoma shakes her head, beckoning for the other three to pass, getting up once they’re through.

“I dropped Cerrie off at the front door. Never went in.”

“Great,” Annabeth mutters.

~~~~~

Kamikaze magic sneakers was not how Neoma wanted Grover to go, and thankfully that was not how Grover went.

Death by angry Underworld god was not how Neoma wanted anyone to go, and thankfully that was not how things were looking.

And then, of course, it turns out Hades’ helm is missing.

The waves of power rolling off of the god of the Underworld make Neoma’s head feel like it’s splitting open from the inside, and vaguely she wonders if this is how Zeus felt giving birth of Athena.

“Do not play innocent with me, girl,” Hades booms at Annabeth. “You, the satyr and the Huntress have been helping this hero—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon’s name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?”

“No!” Jackson says. “Poseidon didn’t—I didn’t—“

“I have said nothing of the helm’s disappearance, because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus hold offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help,” Hades snarls. “I can ill afford the word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you.”

Confusion. That’s all.

Neoma doesn’t even know how this can get any worse. She can’t even think as Hades’ anger escalates, the god’s powers beginning to overtake hers.

And then Jackson pulls Zeus’ lightning bolt out of the backpack that Ares gave them.

Hades counters him by summoning Sally Jackson, the person who has always held Jackson’s unwavering trust, unwavering love.

Bargaining between Jackson, Annabeth, Grover and Neoma follows.

“I’m a satyr,” Grover says. “We don’t have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won’t get me forever. I’ll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It’s the best way.”

“No,” Annabeth says, drawing her dagger. “You three go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher’s license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I’ll cover you. I plan to go down fighting.”

“That’s stupid,” Neoma says matter-of-factly. Her voice is surprisingly steady, even to her, as waves of pain crash over her. “I’m older than all of you, so I make the final decision. You’re all going, and I stay behind. I’m sure I can work something out.”

The arguing ends when Jackson presses a blue pearl into Grover’s, then Annabeth’s, and finally Neoma’s hands.

“But, Percy…” Annabeth says.

When the time comes to smash the pearls at their feet, Jackson does the same.

All four of them travel up, up, up into the mortal realm and leave Sally Jackson behind.

~~~~~

Percy Jackson battles Ares, god of war on the beach of Santa Monica Bay and wins.

Jackson is certifiably crazy, and Neoma takes comfort in that.

Once, Ares was Neoma’s god, the one she turned to in times of need, when she was lacking in strength, in intelligence, in speed.

The Ares Neoma sees now, on the beach of Santa Monica Bay, is not that god.

She cheers when Ares departs.

~~~~~

Seeing Luke when they get back to camp makes the sinking feeling in Neoma’s stomach grow heavier.

He’s still the same. Sandy-blonde hair, jagged scar on the left side of his face. Tall.

Something about him is off, which is why Neoma goes after him when he disappears into the woods with a pack of Cokes.

Jackson gets stung by a scorpion.

Luke disappears into the woods.

Neoma regrets _everything._

If she were stronger, bigger, better, she could’ve dragged Jackson back to the Big House.

She could’ve made it back to camp, could’ve raised the alarm.

Instead, the only thing she can do is place Jackson in the water and hope that it’s good enough.

~~~~~

It is good enough and Neoma thanks each and every one of the gods in the first time in centuries.


End file.
